The Highlander’s Rescued Maiden by Anna Campbell
Chapter 7
Will knew that what he said only set him up for more torture. Even if it was a torture interlaced with sizzling pleasure.
Kissing Ellen had been a revelation. She was passionate and gloriously responsive. The prospect of seeing her achieve her first climax under his hand was worth any torment.
Because he was already in torment. He wanted to claim Ellen Cameron as his in the most essential way. He wanted to thrust deep into her slender body and fill her with his seed. When she spoke of making a child together, he longed to see her grow large and round and contented, while his baby nestled safe in her womb.
Beside him, she frowned as she considered what he suggested. More torture. She was both too far away for his liking and too close for comfort. “But will that no’ be difficult for you?”
He bit back a sardonic laugh. Difficult? It was going to be hell. But hell with a fair dollop of heaven mixed in, too. “There are things I can do to find relief.”
“But will it be enough?”
He shrugged. “It has to be. I’d dearly love to touch ye and show you some of the pleasures you’ve been missing.”
Her troubled expression didn’t ease. “And ye won’t…”
Dear God, he hoped that overmastering desire wasn’t about to make a liar of him. “Ye have my word.”
“I’d have to trust ye.”
“Aye.” The clock on the mantel struck three. “Think about it and tell me in the morning.”
Her lips twitched. “It is the morning.”
“Well, after the sun comes up.” Not that he’d caught a glimpse of the sun since he’d arrived. Which suited him fine. Right now, the sun was his enemy. The sun meant a return of her guardians and an end to his time with her.
She directed a long, serious look at him. “I dinnae want to leave you.”
Gratification flooded him. If Ellen could bring herself to make such an admission, she was close to saying yes. “Then I’ll stay.”
“I’m no’ ready to invite you into my bed.”
“We could lie down here.” He gestured to the window seat. “I’d like to hold ye in my arms.”
“Just…hold?”
“Aye.”
“Ye must think that I’m a ninny to hesitate.”
He thought that she’d known too many useless men, starting with her dear papa, but that was a discussion for another time. “I think that if you stay with me, ye grant me a great privilege.”
“You’re far too charming.” Ellen sent him a disapproving look. “I never trust ye when you say such things. Sweet words like that must have led many a maiden astray at Achnasheen.”
He smiled, appreciating the challenge. “Are they likely to lead a maiden astray on Bortha?”
“No, she’s much more stalwart.”
Delight filled him. She was indeed.
Wasn’t he the world’s luckiest laddie to have her to himself? But only while the wind blew. He had such little time to gain her trust, then persuade her to leave. She was a long way from sailing away in his company. Perhaps if he could turn sensual pleasure into an addiction, he might lure her to escape.
He’d do his damnedest.
Will stretched one arm out. “Come and rest in my embrace, my bonny. I’ll keep ye warm and safe. Any other decisions can wait.”
Her expression turned uncertain, and he waited for her to tell him that she’d changed her mind. He didn’t underestimate what he demanded. She’d known him little more than a day, and she wasn’t someone who lowered her barriers just for the asking.
A wide yawn resulted in a very un-Ellen-like giggle. “That says it all, I think.”
She slid across the seat and snuggled against him. As his arm encircled her, his heart gave a mighty thud of satisfaction. Her scent surrounded him. Lavender soap. A hint of old books. Something fresh and warm that was Ellen’s alone.
He raised her chin. “Good night, Ellen.”
Her beautiful ice-blue eyes were heavy with weariness, but she managed a smile. “Good night, Will.”
He dipped his head to kiss her. Their lips clung for a sweet instant before she withdrew. She laid her head on his chest, over the place where his heart beat with yearning for her.
***
Will stirred to the gray light that had become familiar since he’d come to this isolated tower. He extended full-length against the window, and a soft bundle of femininity pressed tight against him. His nose was buried in a silky mass of blond hair.
Sometime during the night, they must have shifted to lie down, although he couldn’t remember moving. The narrow seat provided a surprisingly comfortable bed, when he had Ellen’s back to his chest and her head resting on his arm.
The fire had burned down to embers and the room was cold, but he wasn’t yet ready to relinquish his precious armful. Outside, the wind wailed. He said a silent prayer for the gale to keep up, although given his immoral intentions, perhaps it might be best to keep the Almighty away from his plans.
With a drowsy grumble, Ellen stirred. When his embrace firmed, she shifted again but didn’t move away, praise heaven. “You’re awake,” she said softly.
“Aye.”
“Ye kept your word.” Her rump bumped against his swollen prick, and he bit back a groan.
He set his jaw against his body’s demands. “Ye can trust me.”
“Mmm,” she said, and he hid a wince at the noncommittal tone.
Will dropped into another doze. The next time he opened his eyes, he guessed it must be somewhere around nine. He couldn’t see the clock from where he lay. Prosaic needs prodded him, but he did his best to ignore them.
Ellen couldn’t know quite how much it cost him to stick to his principles right now. But in his short time on the island, he’d reached a number of conclusions, not least that Ellen had been bullied far too often. She deserved the chance to make her own choices. He just hoped to God that she chose to give him his way.
This time when she moved, it was with more purpose. With reluctance, he slid his arms away from her. “Ye mean to get up.”
“Aye. Aye, I do.”
She pushed free and rose to her feet. He regarded her with bleary pleasure. She was delightfully rumpled. The stylish gown was wrinkled, and her hair was half out of its knot. She looked younger and more approachable, a different creature altogether from the virago who had threatened to shoot him when he climbed through her window.
Color flushed her cheekbones, and she raised a shaking hand to her tumble of hair. “I must look a complete disaster.”
This unexpected vanity sparked tenderness in Will’s heart, and he found himself smiling at her like a lunatic. “You’re lovely. You’re always lovely.”
She waved away his compliment. “And you’re always gallant.”
He sat up and placed one hand over his flip-flopping heart. “On my honor, gallantry is too much to ask of a man who’s just woken up after only a few hours’ sleep. I speak the truth.”
Seeing her so ruffled and untidy, he couldn’t help thinking of bed sport. His hands itched to unpin her hair and unlace the elaborate gown to reveal the curves beneath.
“Flatterer.” Her husky laugh made his balls heavier. She pushed her hair back from her face, and the eyes she leveled on him were dark with weariness. Weariness and a sensual awareness that crashed through him like an avalanche. “Whereas ye look as godlike as ever. It’s no’ fair when I’m sure I look like a scarecrow planted out in a hurricane.”
It was his turn to blush, something he couldn’t remember doing since he was an awkward boy with a penchant for his Drummond cousin Martha. Beneath his abashment, he was mighty pleased that Ellen liked the way he looked. It was the first time she’d admitted any such weakness. “Och, go on with ye, you daft lassie.”
Her smile conveyed a tinge of smugness. “I’m going upstairs to wash and change. I’ll see ye in the kitchen for breakfast.”
He cast a derisive glance at his shirt. “I think a man who is truly godlike would have a clean shirt.”
“I’ll wash it, if ye like. It should dry in front of the fire.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll see ye later.”
She didn’t move straightaway, just stood there while her eyes ate him up. Will curled his hands over the edge of the window seat to stop himself from jumping up and grabbing her and kissing her into a fluster.
Ellen was yet to mention last night’s kisses or his offer to go further than kisses. Something stopped him from asking for an answer. Perhaps a shameful fear of the blow she’d strike if she said no.
The strange stasis continued, until she released her breath in a hiss. She turned toward the staircase leading up to the bedroom he was yet to see. Will realized that he, too, had been holding his breath. His head swam as he sucked air into his empty lungs. He’d never met a woman who stopped the breath in his chest. Ellen did it without even trying.
***
When Will arrived with his shirts in his hand, Ellen was standing at the hearth, stirring the porridge and looking enchantingly domestic. At his entrance, she turned and her eyes went as round as saucers.
Her gaze focused on his bare chest. “Oh, my…”
To his chagrin, he found himself blushing again. This lassie had him in such a dither. When she licked her lips with innocent voluptuousness, he got even more steamed up, despite spending the last half hour lecturing himself on the necessity for control.
“You’re burning the porridge,” he said, finding it difficult to speak through the tumult in his blood.
She still stared at him as if he was an apparition. “What?”
“The porridge?”
“The porridge?” She blinked and went as red as a rowanberry. Heaven help them, they were as bad as each other. “Oh, the porridge.”
She turned so fast that she wobbled. Before he could remind himself that she didn’t like anyone making allowances for her lameness, he lunged forward to catch her elbow.
For a charged moment, she remained trembling in his grasp. The immediate heat between them was as shocking as lightning in a clear sky. He stepped closer to kiss her, even though he’d resolved to avoid physical persuasion.
She leaned toward him, then caught her breath and straightened. “The porridge.”
“Aye,” he said, releasing her. His heart raced like a riptide. He guessed hers might, too.
Will had never felt so shaken in his life. He’d known the first time he saw her that she was a prize worth winning, but this pursuit of Fair Ellen of the Isles was becoming the most important thing he’d ever done.
With a concentration they didn’t deserve, she stirred the oats. Whatever had happened just now had disturbed her as profoundly as it disturbed him.
“Put…put your shirts over a chair.”
“Thank ye for washing them for me.” Did she notice how unnatural he sounded?
“It’s nae trouble.” Her voice was higher than usual. “Sit down, and I’ll get your breakfast.”
Honey and cream turned the humble meal into a feast, but conversation remained stilted. Which reminded Will how easily they’d filled the hours yesterday.
His craving for Ellen meant that conversation, no matter how fine, could no longer satisfy him. Had it been a mistake to kiss her? He knew now how she tasted and how her passion flared into wildfire. He knew the sound of her soft murmurs of pleasure.
It had been difficult enough keeping his hands off Ellen before. Now it was nigh impossible.
She was shy with him in a way she hadn’t been yesterday. When she spoke, she jumped from topic to topic, and she avoided his eyes. This morning, she’d chosen a plainer dress, too. Yesterday’s ensemble could have graced a smart London street. Today she wore a pale green gown with a demure collar. Her hair was confined in a severe knot.
Will wondered what signals she meant to send. Was she hinting that her answer must be no? Or was she trying to play down her extraordinary beauty? If so, it was a miserable failure. Even in sackcloth and ashes, her golden perfection would shine through.
He and Ellen balanced on a dizzying precipice. The question was would she take his hand and dare the terrifying drop, or would she retreat to safety?
Last night, he’d hoped he had a chance of gaining her consent. This morning, he wasn’t so optimistic.
She rose to collect their empty bowls. “I must go and milk Buttercup.”
He glanced up, although again she avoided his eyes. “Let me do it.”
“You’re a guest.”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “No’ exactly. More an intruder.”
Her faint smile filled him with relief. “No, ye stopped being an intruder yesterday.”
By God, that sounded like a concession. He started to rise from his chair, then subsided when he reminded himself that he’d sworn not to put any pressure on her. “So let me look after Buttercup.”
“Thank you.”
Will stood and left. It was either that or seize the girl in his arms and kiss her senseless.
***
Buttercup was bellowing in complaint when Will braved the weather to reach the byre. The storm showed no sign of abating. He couldn’t help taking nefarious pleasure in that fact.
It might be torture to keep his hands off Ellen. It would be worse to leave her.
“I’m sorry, old girl.” He set up the bucket and settled on the stool. The familiar scents of hay and cattle surrounded him as he milked the cow. “I ken I’m late.”
At least the air was warmer in here. “It’s been a very strange wee while.”
He started to tell the cow about everything that had happened, although he spared Buttercup the details of those damned fine kisses.
“The question is what do I do now,” he said in a musing voice. Buttercup had proven a good listener as he’d milked her and organized fodder and water. “Do I pounce? Or do I hold back and let Ellen decide what we do next? The lassie liked my kisses, so pouncing might convince her to yield. She was nervous this morning, so I fear if I leave the decision up to the lady, her fears will win out, which would be an infernal shame. Especially as she’s so innocent, she doesnae ken what she’s denying herself. On the other hand, I like to think I’m a man of honor and pouncing might frighten her. I’d cut my throat before I do that.”
Will paused as if Buttercup replied. He began to muck out the stall. With luck, hard work might take the edge off his frustration.
He stopped to catch his breath. “Buttercup, what do ye think?”
But while Buttercup was an excellent listener, she wasn’t half so handy as a conversationalist. Her silence was no help at all.
He sighed and leaned one forearm on the shovel’s wooden handle, as he regarded the cow with weary interest. “Is it pounce or politeness, my friend? Which is the most likely to gain the favor of Fair Ellen of the Isles?”
The voice that replied was wry and feminine – and didn’t come from Buttercup. “My vote is for pounce.”
